Dear World At This, Being ChristmasTimes, the Holidays, and Whatnot:
I would like to remind you of one thing that remains as unchanging as my love of any holiday shapes made of chocolate, and filled with some sort of marshmallow or peanut butter filling. This is a simple point, a direct request, and something of a Grinch-worthy threat:
SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH YOUR PRECIOUS HARDBACK COPY OF POLAR EXPRESS.
You know who you are. You know what you do. You look forward to it every year, with the joy of a kid begging to rip into the box he already knows contains that remote control thing from Radio Shack he's only gonna play with once before breaking. That special day rolls around and you're ready to get everyone into the Christmas spirit. You're gonna get your bag of tricks together and trot on over to church or school or your local library or anarchist bunker in the forests of Montana--Not my business--and get to work.
You're gonna warm some hearts.
How? You've got your secret weapon. You let everyone get all cozy on the floor, maybe some pillows, dim the lights, and unveil that sacred tome, the real reason for the season.
THE. POLAR. EXPRESS.
The rest of the experience is as precise as something created in a top-secret government lab. Little boy believes. A magical vehicle--the titular Polar Express-- appears and a seemingly friendly man offers sweets and adventures. Much like this person:
Or better yet, this one:
All the children on the train sip their hot chocolate, and all the people listening to the story sip on styrofoam cups full of powdered Swiss Miss. We're playing along! It's like Smell-O-Vision! They make it to the North Pole and we see Santa! How's that for an M. Night Shamalan plot twist! Santa's here! He can go to every house in all the world and drop toys to everybody! So it's gonna be a piece of cake to have his Elves line up with t-shirt guns and shoot dolls and wooden trains to the children like awesome Santa confetti! Toys for everyone!
Nope, one kid. It's like some kind of ritualistic lottery system. Or that claw machine that cheats everyone except one lucky kid who walks around all day at Chuck E. Cheese with a stuffed animal and everyone else just glares. Santa points at random, selects our protagonist, and the little boy who could ask for anything in the world only.
Wants.
A.
Sleigh.
Bell.
He's the zen master of children. Unlike the rest of us who would rack our brains for the most expensive thing in the Toys-R-Us catalog and/or a pony/new bike. This brilliant little boy asks for someone no one else would. Boom. Bell aquired. On the way home, tragedy strikes! He loses the bell! It's gone! At this point the rapt audience lets out a sad awwwww noise. Someone spills their now-cold Swiss Miss. Maybe on their lap, maybe on the carpet. It's staining something tonight. That's what cups of hot chocolate do.
Said child is dumped at his doorstep and he takes his sad-sack self off to bed. In the morning, there's a teeny tiny present under the tree and when he opens it, he finds the bell. When the boy rings the bell, both he and his sister marvel at the beautiful sound. We can assume it sounds like some sort of...oh, bell? Maybe it as a chorus of something by Journey. Or The Forgotten Carols. Who's to say?
He and his sister are entranced by the ding/Journey/Forgotten Carols lyrics. His parents, however, are unable to hear the bell and remark that it must be broken. Like they do. Ruining everything good in your life.
At this point whoever is reading the book gets a little teary. Everyone gets all warmed up and fuzzied inside. With a pause and a crisp turn of the page, they positively sigh the words:
At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I've grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.
Then someone turns up the lights a bit, opens up a plastic bag full of 35-cent bells on string from a craft store and everyone sits around making noise with them until they all gain control of their emotions, dab their eyes, and promise never ever to forget the meaning of Christmas.
For me, the only profound part of this as a child was the question to myself, why are we doing this at CHURCH again?
All I can tell you is this...The only magical trains I want you reading to me about better be headed to Hogwarts.
And stop ringing that damn bell.
